A Mother's Betrayal
by Sable Supernova
Summary: Rowena knows what's about to happen. She knows the effect it'll have on her. She just can't bring herself to tell her. So instead she waits, prays, and let the events tell themselves as they unfold. One shot. Warnings inside.
**AN:** So, writing from the perspective of a medieval catholic is difficult when you're a 21st century atheist, but fun nonetheless! I enjoyed the research. I hope you enjoy it J
 **Warnings for:** violent character death (fire), trauma  
 **Wordcount:** 2914

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 **A Mother's Betrayal**

The soft cushion under my knees helped to ease the discomfort of a long prayer, though my daughter beside me disagreed. Her hands pressed together in front of her but her eyes, which should have been closed and downcast, wandered around the church, from the pulpit to the crucifix, over the lectern to the brightly painted windows. I could hardly blame her. We prayed most days, but today had been especially long. I'd told her today was an important day, and that we must ask for forgiveness, but she didn't understand what for. I didn't have the heart to tell her.

"Helena, focus. The Marian Prayer," I told her, bringing her back into the present. She looked ashamed, at least, and lowered her head as we began to speak in unison.

"O Mary, you are inviolate, pure and without stain," we began, speaking the words I'd known since I was younger than Helena was now, the words that had been ingrained in our minds since time immemorial. We continued, and while Helena recited the words out of obligation, I truly felt them that day. "By your sweet prayers, obtain eternal pardon for us," I begged of the Blessed Virgin Mother, knowing how guilt would follow me forward from this day on. We muttered the words 'Amen' and crossed ourselves like we were mirrors of each other.

I made to stand, and Helena was eager to follow me as I made my way between the pews, silently, respectful.

Outside the church, a breeze rushed past my ears, cold and harsh as the sea it came from. I pulled my cloak tighter around me even as my face sought the warmth of the spring sun. The stones and pebbles of the path seemed to crunch beneath our boots; the birds sang their early morning songs, darting from crab apple branch to alder, swooping to the gravesides to search for sustenance.

By the road, outside of the churchyard gates, our horses stood in wait; Helena's pony reared its head at the sight of us, eager to be on the move, while my mare continued to chew the grass, content. The Catholic Church lay in the middle of the muggle town, so Apparition wasn't an option even if we'd wanted to travel magically. In truth, I wanted to ride. It was a pilgrimage of sorts, a journey of importance, and so travelling by any assisted means would have done it a disservice.

Our servant aided Helena into her saddle while I pulled myself up with the stirrup, and we began to travel much too soon for my liking. A thousand days would have still been much too soon.

The hooves clipped the smooth stones of the main road through the town with echoes announcing our presence. The children, playing with a hoop and stick, stopped their ministrations to watch us pass. The women carrying their baskets of foods from the market square moved aside to let us go by. The men at work outside the blacksmiths and carpentry workshops eyed us with suspicion, pipes resting between their lips, milk bottles beside them on the hard earth.

The muggles revered us. The muggles were afraid of us. I often wondered which one most captured their hearts.

Within minutes, we'd left the town behind. The path became muddy and rugged even as the land became cultured and orderly on the farms. The hills were in front of us, and behind and beside us, but it was the ones ahead that were our destination. Above the towns and villages, where the sheep and goats roamed among the ferns and jagged rocks, was a tableau, blasted by harsh winds that had travelled thus far uninterrupted, drowned in the rains that always waited until they were halfway up the rocky precipice before beginning to fall. It was a lonely place; a hard, inhuman place; uninhabitable. An hour's ride would take us there.

"Mother, where are we going?" Helena asked, and I didn't know how to answer. A part of me felt too guilty to answer. She'd not yet seen it through a decade; she shouldn't be about to see what we were heading towards. My advisers, as well as Godric and Salazar, had encouraged me to bring her. They said it showed solidarity; it showed the real cruelty of what they were about to do if she was there. That didn't mean it was right.

"To the plains of Rosemere," I told her, though I knew I was lying by omission.

"But why? It's cold and windy and wet up there. Why are we going there?" she asked, elongating her syllables in a higher pitch than usual in a childish effort to emphasise her discomfort.

"Because something's happening up there today that we need to see." I knew that I should tell her. I knew that I should prepare her for what was waiting. I didn't know how.

"Where's Edward? Why isn't he with us?" my daughter asked. My heart broke. Sir Edward Makepiece, Architect of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, estranged husband to Lady Eleanor Ryall, surrogate father to Helena Ravenclaw, sodomite, fornicator, infidel. He was the one thing I had hoped she wouldn't ask about. He was the reason we were travelling. He was the only love I'd ever known besides my own parents and my daughter.

"We'll see Sir Makepiece at Rosemere."

"Where has he been?" Her innocent questions were a dagger turning in my gut. I couldn't tell her I didn't know when I did. I couldn't tell her the truth, either.

"He was in some trouble so he had to go away."

"But he's back now?" There was hope in the inflection of her voice. Hope I just couldn't tear away from her. Tears pricked my eyes.

"I suppose he is."

I thanked Our Lady that the questions ceased then. I knew suffering was important to us, it tested the strength of our faith, but what I was about to witness would be suffering enough for a lifetime. I didn't need my daughter's innate curiosity, which I had always been so proud of, to make it worse. Our Lady heard my pain, and she was gracious enough to quell my daughter's spirit for a while.

We entered the valley before the final climb, and the winds quietened. A bird of prey circled above the bright meadow as the reeds, grasses and blooms danced in the now gentle breeze. I knew this valley as I knew my childhood home. It always had a restorative effect on me. The valley reminded me of the life that clawed to burst out inside of me; the youthfulness of my mind even as my body aged; how fleeting and unimportant the trivialities of life really were. Today, the flowers seemed to mock me. The birdsfoot trefoils laughed with their promise of revenge they could never realise. The buttercup's youthful dance tormented me with dreams of innocence I'd never know again, for they'd all be tarnished. The forget-me-not flowers of maternal love passed a silent judgement. Only two flowers bowed with respect as we passed. The violet, Our Lady's Modesty, hid its blooms beneath its leaves in humility, as faithful a watcher as I was soon to be. Our Lady's Tears mourned for us, their white heads hanging low. I was grateful for her presence, and the connection to God it gave me.

The climb was long and arduous for our mares, and it wasn't until it was done that the gathered crowd became visible. All there were magical, and many eyed our transport with suspicion. The animals of the muggle world were considered base, unintelligent species by many of our kind, untrustworthy and volatile. I had learned better, but I wasn't alone. My arrival completed the group known throughout magical Britain as the Founders of Hogwarts. We dismounted and took our place beside them. Salazar, my constant friend, drew me into an embrace, lending me some of his strength of character when mine was weakening. Helena's eyes danced about the crowd, and I had no doubts that she was searching for Edward. I held my silence.

While the muggles had their Kings and Queens, the wizarding world wasn't ruled by such institutions. Instead, men with money and influence dictated what the law was, what was punishable by it, and who. Aldous the Austere, a man with a large beard and larger iron fist, ruled the roust at this time, though rumours claimed bets were being taken as to how long he would last. There were many clamouring to take his place.

My daughter seemed bored by the waiting, youthful impatience bade her sit in the heather and pick flowers. In my church, all children are born sinful, with an urge towards the unlawful and a desire to disobey God. In Helena, I saw only innocence. The way her eyes turned upwards, wide, with wonder at the world and all that was within it. The furrowing of her brow as she questioned that which she did not understand. Her innate belief that there was good in every man, that kindness always prevailed. To believe such things was so precious, and so close to being ripped away from her. In a matter of moments, she would learn that kindness sometimes didn't win the battle for a person's heart. She would learn that bad things happened to good people and all we could do was persevere.

In the middle of the plain, sticks and branches were being arranged over a pile of dry hay and heather. They were laying the last few pieces of wood as I watched.

"Send for the prisoner!" Aldous called, sending a hush of anticipation through the crowds as a thin man with a pointed moustache Apparated away. He would not be long.

"Mother, who's the prisoner? Why are they bringing him here?"

I looked at my daughter. I had made many choices with regards to answering her questions today, and I was about to make another one. I hadn't told her anything yet, and I couldn't bring myself to start talking now.

"You'll see, Helena. They'll explain."

The last time I'd seen Edward, he'd been wearing his finest velvet jacket, in a bright shade of orange. He'd been smiling down at Helena by my side as we watched her play by the lake. He'd left with a chaste kiss and a promise to return soon.

The moustached man returned with him in tow, his hands bound by thick rope. He'd been stripped of his fine boots and jacket and walked barefoot in a plain cotton shirt and breeches. His face and hands were obscured by some sort of grime. I didn't know if I was grateful or not that I couldn't tell if it was blood or dirt. I wanted to know everything, and I didn't want to know anything.

"Mother, that's Edward! What's going on? Why is he tied up?"

Her eyes were pleading, searching. Panic showed itself in the way her lips parted and her breath quickened. She stood up, no longer bored as she watched the happenings with desperation to understand. I looked at her with sadness in my eyes and said nothing.

His eyes found mine as he was forced to his knees, but he quickly looked away. I didn't know why.

"Sir Edward Makepiece, you have been brought before us today to serve your sentence for the crimes you have committed. You have been charged and found guilty of the following: sodomy, infidelity and fornication."

Helena breathed in a gasp of shock as she began to understood what was happening.

"You have turned your back on your wife, and the sacred vows you took under oath to God. It is known that you fraternised with another woman, away from your marriage bed."

Eyes turned towards me at this, but I paid them no mind. It was my daughter's eyes that concerned me, as they widened. She understood that I, too, was guilty.

"For these crimes, you have pleaded guilty, and have been found guilty. Today, you will face your punishment, and you will here, on this fire, burn until there is nought left of you but your spirit. You, Sir Makepiece, will face God to answer for your sins on Judgement Day. Do you have any final words?"

Edward's eyes found mine again as he considered his answer. Everything I wanted to say – all my sorrow and grief, all my love and devotedness – I tried to convey in a single expression. His face hardened a little as he drew in a breath and he chanced a small smile at me. I knew what he meant.

"No. I have nothing to say."

Aldous clapped his hands together as he spoke. "String him up, then!"

Edward was dragged to his feet and pushed towards the fire yet to be lit.

"No!" Helena cried out, and she began to move forward but I caught her, placing a restraining hand on her shoulder. Now was not the time for her to be rebellious. There was nothing she could do.

They untied his hands, but only momentarily, for they were soon tied again behind him, his arms wrapped around the great stake that would hold him in place.

I felt my eyes water and my daughter's short, stilted breath told me that hers were, too.

"Light the fire!" Aldous called with no hint of emotion. I could hardly watch.

A man approached the pyre with his wand in hand, sending a simple spark into the kindling in the middle.

I watched, stoic, but out of the corner of my eye I registered the shock on Helena's face.

The spark quickly burst to life, nurtured by the winds that whipped across the moor. The flames began yellow and quickly licked higher into the air, turning orange at the tip and glowing ever more yellow at the base. The kindling all caught quickly, and soon the flames snakes their way around the logs and branches, curling ever inwards.

Without warning, Helena darted forward, breaking free of my hold.

"Helena!" I called after her, but to no avail. I darted after her, but her young legs carried her faster than I could keep up with. She was climbing the logs before I could stop her.

The crowd gathered to stop her, but she had determination on her side. She'd reached Edward and had rushed around him before I begun an Aguamenti spell, dousing the flames before they reached her. Others joined me as she attempted to undo the knots, her tiny fingers pulling at the ropes grown men had tied fast.

"You can't kill him! You can't!" she screamed.

I soon reached her, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her towards me, away from the danger she'd raced into. As I began to step away, I looked up at Edward, so stoic in the face of his demise.

He caught my eye and his mouth began to mouth. I couldn't be certain, but I thought he'd whispered, "I love you."

I turned away, my daughter clutched to my chest, the flames completely quelled now. I took her back to our watch post, even as tears dampened my dress from her eyes, even as she clawed at the skin of my arms.

She didn't understand, I don't think, that I wanted to save him as much as she did, but that our fight was futile. Sometimes, it proves a far better thing to accept defeat with grace than fight a losing battle.

I held her close to me as the men cast a quick drying spell, and relit the fire again.

At least, I noticed, they acted with much more humility this time, as if my daughter's actions had shamed them in some way. More heads bowed, more eyes turned away. No one looked at us.

I stared as the flames worked their path ever closer to his feet. I stared as they began to creep up his frame. I heard his screams—every last one of them. I smelled the burning flesh, and I had never inhaled something so rancid. I tasted the ash on the air. I watched as his struggling ceased, as his head drooped, as the life left his body.

I sent up a silent prayer to Mary Magdalene, the devout disciple, as I understood the pain that she had known and felt a oneness with her.

When it was done, I looked down at my daughter once more, cradled in my arms still. The wonder, the curiosity, the kindness—all that I had seen on her face mere hours ago—was gone. In its place were red, dry eyes, knitted eyebrows and a hard-set mouth. Her innocence had left.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you stop me? How could you let that happen?" she asked, her voice raspy, deep, strained.

Her innocence had been stolen by betrayal and anguish.

"I'm sorry, Helena. I did everything that I could. But we couldn't have stopped this. And… I didn't know how to tell you."

She took my words in for a moment, before lashing out against me, fighting to be free from my arms. I tried to hold her, but she wouldn't be held. I had to let her go. She ran across the moor, away from the dispersing crowds, and sat down amongst the heather and moss. I stared after my daughter and didn't know what to do.

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 **Written for:**  
 **May Event at Hogwarts:** Go, Pick Flowers—Wild Lilies and Roses Bouquet: Write about recognising how precious innocence is, in the same moment as it is destroyed/witnessed to be destroyed.  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Rowena Ravenclaw  
 **School of Prompts:** Helena Ravenclaw  
 **Writing Bingo:** Rowena Ravenclaw  
 **Challenge Your Versatility—100 Characters:** Rowena Ravenclaw  
 **Valentines Making Challenge—Blue Ribbon:** Write about a Ravenclaw  
 **May Events Checklist at Hogwarts—** May's flower is the Lily of the Valley: Write about a wild Lily of the Valley (Our Lady's Tears) in your story / May is devoted to the Virgin Mary in Catholic traditions: Write about a Roman Catholic Character / Garden for Wildlife Month: Incorporate an aspect of wildlife or a garden in your story / National Day of Prayer: Include a prayer in your story / Day of Youth: Write about a child / Beltaine: Write about a fire being doused and re-lit / International Day of United Nations Peacekeepers: Write about a character struggling to keep the peace / Geek Pride Day: Write about a Ravenclaw  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards—** Architect of Hogwarts for 5 bonus Knuts: Write about a possible relationship between Rowena and the Architect  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 138\. Choices  
Submitted to **Fanfiction Writing Month** for May.


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